When Anita Blake meets with prospective client Tony Bennington, who is desperate to have her reanimate his recently deceased wife, she is full of sympathy for his loss. Anita knows something about love, and she knows everything there is to know about loss. But what she also knows, though Tony Bennington seems unwilling to be convinced, is that the thing she can do as a necromancer isn't the miracle he thinks he needs. The creature that Anita could coerce to step out of the late Mrs. Bennington's grave would not be the lovely Mrs. Bennington. Not really. And not for long.

Chapter 1[i][u]

“I want you to raise my wife from the dead, Ms. Blake,” TonyBennington said, in a voice that matched the expensive suit andthe fl ash of the Rolex on his right wrist. It probably meant hewas a lefty. Not that his handedness mattered, but you learn tonotice primary hands when people try to kill you on a semi-regularbasis.“My condolences,” I said automatically, because Benningtondidn’t display any grief. His face was composed, almost blank, sothat if he was handsome in that gray-haired, I’m-over-fifty-butkeep-in-good-shape way, the lack of expression took all the fun outof it. Maybe the blankness was his way of showing grief, but hisgray eyes were steady and cold as they met mine. It was either somesteely control of grief, or he didn’t feel anything about his wife’sdeath; that would be interesting. “Why do you want me to raiseyour wife from the dead, Mr. Bennington?”“At the rates you charge, does it matter?” he asked.I gave him the long blink and crossed my legs, smoothing theskirt over my thighs as automatically as I’d said my condolences. Igave him the edge of a smile that I knew didn’t reach my eyes. “Itdoes, to me.”An emotion filled his eyes then; anger. His voice held barely ahint of the emotion that turned his eyes a darker shade of gray.Maybe it was steely self-control after all. “It’s personal, and youdon’t need to know it to raise her as a zombie.”“This is my job, Mr. Bennington, not yours. You don’t knowwhat I need to raise a zombie.”“I did my research, Ms. Blake. My wife wasn’t murdered, soshe won’t rise as a vengeful flesh-eating monster. She wasn’t psychic,or a witch, and had never gone near any other religionthat might make her more than a normal zombie. There’s nothingin her background that makes her a bad candidate for theceremony.”I raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed; you did do your research.”He nodded, once, manicured hands smoothing his tailored lapel.“Then you’ll do it?”I shook my head. “Not without a reason.”He frowned at me, that fl ash of anger back in his eyes. “Whatkind of reason do you want?”“One good enough to make me disturb the dead.”“I’m willing to pay your rather exorbitant fee, Ms. Blake; Iwould think that would inspire you.”“Money isn’t everything, Mr. Bennington. Why do you wanther raised from the dead? What do you hope to gain from it?”“Gain,” he said, “I don’t know what you mean by that.”“I don’t, either, but you keep not answering my original question;I thought maybe if I rephrased it you would.”“I don’t want to answer either question,” he said.“Then I won’t raise your wife. There are other animators atAnimators Inc. who will be happy to take your money, and theydon’t charge my rates.”“Everyone says you are the best.”I shrugged. I was never sure what to say to things like that, andfound silence worked best.“They say you are a true necromancer and have power over alltypes of undead.”I kept my face blank, which I’d gotten better at over the years.He was right, but I didn’t think it was commonly known. “You’llturn a girl’s head with talk like that.”“You have the highest number of executions of any member ofthe U.S. Marshals preternatural branch. Most of them were roguevampires, but some of them were wereanimals.”I shrugged. “That’s a matter of record, so yeah, but it has nobearing on what you want from me, Mr. Bennington.”“I suppose it has as little to do with my request as your reputationas a sort of female Casanova.”“My love life really has nothing to do with my ability to raise thedead.”“If you can truly control all manner of undead, then it mightexplain how you can slay vampires and still date them.”Jean-Claude, one of the vampires in question, was a little iffy onwho wore the pants in our relationship sometimes because of mypowers; just as I was iffy on how much of our relationship wasmy idea because of his vampire powers over me. We had a sort ofmetaphysical detente. “Jean-Claude and I were in the papers recently,so that didn’t take much research.”“One of St. Louis’s hottest couples, I believe was the article.”I tried not to squirm with embarrassment, and managed it.“Jean-Claude is pretty enough that anyone on his arm looks hot.”“That much modesty doesn’t become a woman,” Benningtonsaid.I blinked at him, frowning. “Sorry, I don’t know what you meanby that.”He studied my face, then said, “You really don’t, do you?”“I just said that.” I felt like I had missed something, anddidn’t like it. “I am sorry for your pain, but you’re not winning meover.”“I need to know if your reputation is real, or just talk, like somany of the tall tales about you.”“I’ve earned my reputation, but if you really did your researchon me then you also know that I don’t raise zombies for kicks, orthrill seekers, or tormented relatives unless they have a plan.”“A plan, what kind of plan?”“You tell me. Why—do—you—want—your—wife—raised—as—a—zombie?”“I understood the question, Ms. Blake; you don’t have to say itslowly.”“Then answer the question, or this interview is over.”He glared at me, that anger darkening his eyes to a nice storm cloudgray. His hands made fists on the chair arms, and a muscle inhis jaw flexed as he ground his teeth in frustration. Iron self-controlit was.I stood up, smoothing my skirt down in back, out of habit. I’dbeen polite because I knew how much money he’d paid just to talkto me, and since I was going to refuse I wanted him to feel he’dgotten something for his money, but I’d had enough.“I need you because there isn’t much left of her body. Mostanimators need a nearly intact body to do the job; I don’t have anintact body to work with.” He wouldn’t look at me as he said it, andthere was a fl inching around his mouth, a tension to those eyes hewas hiding from me. Here was the pain.I sat back down and my voice was gentler. “How did she die?”“It was an explosion. Our vacation home had a gas leak. She’dgone up ahead of me. I was going to join her the next day, but thatnight . . .” His fists tightened, mottling the skin, and that muscle inhis jaw bulged as if he were trying to bite through something hardand bitter. “I loved my wife, Ms. Blake.” He sounded like the wordschoked him. His dark gray eyes gleamed when he raised them backto me. He held onto his unshred tears the way he held onto everythingelse: tightly.“I believe you, and I really am sorry for your loss, but I need toknow what you think you’ll get out of raising her like this. She willbe a zombie. Mine look very human, Mr. Bennington, very human,but they aren’t. I don’t want you to believe that I can raise her upand you can keep her with you, because you can’t.”“Why can’t I?”I made my voice soft as I told him the truth, “Because eventuallyshe’ll start to rot, and you don’t want that to be your last visual ofyour wife.”“I heard you raise zombies that don’t even know they’re dead.”“Not at first,” I said, “but eventually the magic wears off, andit’s . . . not pretty, Mr. Bennington.”“Please,” he said, “no one else can do this but you.”“If I could raise her from the dead for real for you, maybe Iwould. I won’t debate the whole religious/philosophical problemwith you, but the truth is that even I can’t do what you want. I raisezombies, Mr. Bennington, and that is not the same thing as resurrectionof the dead. I’m good, maybe the best there is in the business,but I’m not that good, no one is.”A tear began to slide down each cheek, and I knew from my ownhatred of crying that the tears were hot, and his throat hurtwith holding it all in. “I don’t beg, Ms. Blake, ever, but I’ll beg younow. I’ll double your fee. I’ll do whatever it takes for you to do thisfor me.”That he was willing to double my fee meant he had as muchmoney as he seemed to have; a lot of people who wore designersuits and Rolex watches were wearing their money. I stood again.“I am sorry, but I don’t have the ability to do what you want. Noone on this earth can bring your wife back from the dead in the wayyou want.”“It’s too late for her to be a vampire, then?”“First she’d have to have been bitten before she died to have anychance of raising her as a vampire. Second, you say she died in anexplosion.”He nodded, his face ignoring the tears, except for the pain in hiseyes and the hard line of his jaw.“Fire is one of the few things that destroy everything, even thepreternatural.”“One of the reasons I’m here, Ms. Blake, is that most animatorshave trouble raising the dead when there’s just burned bits left. Ithought that was because of how little they had to work with, butis it because of the fire itself?”It was a good question, an intelligent question, but I didn’t havea good answer to give back to him. “I’m honestly not sure. I knowthat most animators need a nearly complete body to raise from thedead, but I’m not sure I’ve ever seen an article on whether death byfire impedes the process.” I stood up and walked around the deskto offer him my hand. “I am sorry that I can’t help you, Mr. Bennington,but trust me that what I could do for you, you don’t reallywant.”He didn’t stand up, just looked at me. “You’re the girlfriend ofthe Master Vampire of St. Louis. Isn’t he powerful enough to overcomeall that and raise her as a vampire?”I was a lot more than just Jean-Claude’s girlfriend. I was hishuman servant, but we tried to keep that out of the media. Thepolice that I worked with as a U.S. Marshal already mistrusted mebecause I was having sex with a vampire; if they were certain of ourmystical connection they’d like it even less.I lowered my hand and tried to explain. “I’m sorry, truly, but theMaster of the City is still bound by some of the same laws of metaphysicsas all vampires. Your wife would have to have been bittenseveral times before death, and the explosion would have destroyedher even if she had been a vampire.”I put my hand back out and hoped he’d take it this time.He stood up then, and shook my hand. He held on to my handand gave me serious eye contact. “You could raise her as a zombiethat wouldn’t know it was dead, and wouldn’t look dead.”I didn’t pull my hand back, but let him hold it, though I didn’tlike it. I never liked being touched by strangers. “I could, but in afew days she’d begin to deteriorate. If her mind went first thenshe’d just stop being your wife, but if the body began to rot beforethe mind went, then she’d be trapped in a decaying body, and she’dknow it.” I put my hand over both of ours. “You don’t want that forher, or for yourself.”He let go of my hand then, and stepped back. His eyes were lostrather than angry. “But a few days to say good-bye, a few days to bewith her, might be worth it.”I almost asked if by “be with her,” he meant sex, but I did notwant to know. I didn’t need to know because I wasn’t raising thiszombie. There had been cases of other animators raising deceasedspouses and having that happen, which is why most of us make theclient understand that the zombie goes back in the grave the samenight it comes out. It avoided a whole host of problems if you justput the dead person back in its grave immediately. Problems thatmade me have to fight off visuals I did not need in my head. I’d seenway too many zombies to think sex was ever a good idea with theshambling dead.I walked him to the door, and he came, no longer arguing withme. I wasn’t sure I’d actually won the argument. In fact, I would bethe’d try to find someone else to raise his wife from the dead. Therewere a couple of animators in the United States who could do it,but they would probably refuse on the same grounds I had. Thecreep factor was entirely too high.The door opened and he went through. Normally, that wouldhave meant I got to close the door and be done with him, but I gota glimpse of someone who made me smile in spite of my client’sgrief. But then I’d learned a long time ago that if I bled for everybroken heart in my office, I’d have bled to death from other people’swounds long ago.Nathaniel had his back to us, and in the overlarge tank top withthose boy-cut sleeves, a lot of muscle showed. His auburn hair wastied in a thick braid that traced down almost every inch of his fivefoot,seven-inch frame. The braid trailed over wide, muscularshoulders down that back, to the narrow waist, and the tight rise ofhis ass, to fall down the muscled length of his thighs, calves, untilthe end of his braid stopped just short of his ankles. He had thelongest hair of anyone I’d ever dated. His hair was darker thannormal, still damp from the shower that he’d caught between danceclass and picking me up for lunch. I tried to look reasonably intelligentbefore he turned around, because if just seeing him frombehind made me stupid-faced, the front view was better.It was Jason who peeked out from around Nathaniel’s widershoulders, to grin at me. He had that look in his eyes, that mischievouslook that said he was going to push his luck in some way.There was no malice to Jason, just an overly developed sense offun. I gave him the frown that should have told him, Don’t do anythingthat I’ll regret. It did no good to say he would regret it, becausehe wouldn’t.He was handsome, too, but he, like me, was not the prettiestperson in the room with Nathaniel standing there. He was Nathaniel’sbest friend, and I lived with the prettiest boy in the room, sowe were used to it. What made Jason appealing—than the blueeyes, the yellow-blond hair now long enough that he’d started havingNathaniel French-braid it for dance class, which was wherethey’d been, which explained the almost-not-there tank tops andshorts, which showed that he had his own muscular and very nicebody, all packed into a nice fi ve-foot, four-inch frame—wasn’t thepackaging, it was that grin, that light of mischief that made his eyesbright with thinking naughty thoughts. Not sex, though that was inthere, but just a host of things he knew he shouldn’t do, but sowanted to do.To forestall whatever he had planned, I said, “I’m sorry for yourloss, Mr. Bennington, and sorry I can’t help you more.”Jason’s a good guy at heart, and his face sobered, and I knewhe’d take the hint. Nathaniel turned at the sound of my voice, buthis face was sober, too. He knew what kind of work I did, and knewthat I dealt with more grieving relatives than most police.I had a moment to see those huge violet eyes, like an Eastersurprise in a face that was somewhere between beautiful and handsome.I could never decide if it was the eyes or all that hair, thenhe’d put the hair back so you could see the face, and I’d gazed athim often enough asleep to know that he just was that beautiful.I was still trying to get Bennington to the door, but he stopped,looking at the two men. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Hewas climbing back into his blank face, all that anger and disappointmentshoved down behind the iron of his will.I wasn’t, actually. “Maybe they’re not mine to introduce,” Isaid.Bennington looked back at Nathaniel and Jason. “You’re dancersat Guilty Pleasures. The website says you’re a wereleopard anda werewolf. My wife went on a shapeshifter night. She said it wasextraordinary watching you slip your skin and change shape.”I sighed and said, “Mr. Bennington, this is Brandon and Ripley.”I used their stage names automatically, because once someone recognizessomeone from the club, it’s just safer to continue to be thatpersona. All the dancers had their share of overzealous fans. It wasdoubly problematic when they were one of the shapeshifters whodanced. Hate crimes are alive and well. Hell, there are still somewestern states where varmint laws cover wereanimals, so you cankill one and all you have to say is they attacked me, and have ablood test prove that the dead human body was a lycanthrope ofsome kind. Nathaniel was also my leopard to call, and Jason mywolf to call. Through Jean-Claude’s vampire marks and my ownnecromancy, I’d become a sort of living vampire with some ofthe powers of a master. Jean-Claude was descended from BelleMorte’s line of vampires. They fed on love and lust as well as blood,and I’d inherited the need to feed through sex and love. If I didn’tfeed periodically I began to die. I might have been stubborn enoughand embarrassed enough to simply let it happen, but long before Idied Nathaniel would die, drained to death by his “master,” andDamian would die, my vampire servant, and now Jason. Suicide wasselfish enough, but that would have been ridiculous. I was still makingpeace with the metaphysical mess my life had become.Once upon a time I’d have sensed their beasts through the officedoor, but I was getting more control and so were they, so it was likenormal folks. They could surprise me if they wanted to.Jason, aka Ripley, smiled, and it filled his face with that cheerfulhail-fellow-well-met that he could turn on and off. “I don’t rememberseeing you at the club, Mr. Bennington.”“I haven’t been, but as I said my wife visited you once or twice.”He hesitated, then got his phone out of the inside pocket of his suitcoat. It was one of those phones with the big screen so you couldwatch video on it, if you didn’t mind having the picture be the sizeof your palm. Bennington pushed some buttons and held the phoneout to Jason. “Do you remember her?”Jason smiled, but shook his head. “It must have been on a nightI wasn’t working. I’d have remembered her.”Bennington held it out to Nathaniel. He didn’t touch the phone,but looked at it, face solemn. He shook his head. “She’s verybeautiful.”“Was, Brandon, was beautiful.” He held the phone out to me.The woman was blond, and beautiful in that Hollywood way,so that she was truly beautiful but there was nothing to make herstand out from a dozen other blond beauties. It was a type of attractivenessthat always seemed artificial, as if they were all madeat the same factory and sent out into the world to seduce and marrywell.Nathaniel said, “I’m sorry.”“Why are you sorry?” he asked, and that fl ash of anger wasback.“Anita said she was sorry for your loss; isn’t your wife who youlost?”Bennington nodded.“Then I am sorry.” I knew Nathaniel well enough to know thathis emotion was a little stronger than just normal condolences, butI’d ask later when Tony Bennington was far away.I was actually opening the door to usher him out, but I had onelast boyfriend outside the door. Micah had been planning to join usfor lunch, if he could, and there he was, joining us. He stepped in,my height with brown hair that curled past his shoulders, tied backin a ponytail that had too many curls to make his hair lie fl at. Hiseyes were green and yellow, and not human. That beautiful face—and for Micah it truly was beauty, not handsome, more delicatejawline, more slender—was only just masculine. The leopard eyesin that lovely face just added to the impact. He wore sunglassesmost of the time to hide the eyes. He started to get the glasses outautomatically as he glimpsed the man behind me.“Don’t bother hiding the eyes,” Bennington said, “I saw the interviewyou did for the news. You’re the head of the Coalition forBetter Understanding between Humans and Lycanthropes, and Iknow you’re a wereleopard.”Micah stopped trying to fish his glasses out of his suit jacketpocket and just stepped in with a smile. “I believe if we keep hidingwhat we are, it just adds to the fear factor.” He didn’t offer his hand,because some humans didn’t want to touch any part of you oncethey knew you were a shapeshifter. Bennington put his hand out,and Micah took it.“Tony Bennington, this is Micah Callahan,” I said.They shook hands just like normal folks. It got Bennington abrownie point.“Again, Mr. Bennington, I am sorry that I can’t help you, but Iurge you not to try to find someone else to raise your wife.”“It’s my money; I can find someone who will take it.”“Yes, but no one will be able to give you back your wife. Trustme; a zombie is not the same thing, Mr. Bennington.”He nodded, and there was that glimpse of pain again. “I’ve alreadyasked around, Ms. Blake; everyone said that if anyone canraise my Ilsa so she looks like herself and doesn’t know she’s dead,you are the only one to go to, and you’ve turned me down.” He bithis jaw again, that swell of muscle showing his control beginningto slip.Micah said, “I am sorry for your loss, Mr. Bennington, butAnita is the expert on the undead; if she says it would go badly, I’dtrust her.”His gaze went straight to anger. He turned and put that gaze onMicah. “It’s a terrible thing to lose the one you love, Mr. Callahan.”“Yes, it is,” Micah said.The two men looked at each other, Micah exuding that calmthat helped him talk new shapeshifters down when they were aboutto lose control, and Bennington giving off that tightly wound rage.He turned back to me. “Is that your final answer: that you won’thelp me bring her back?”“It’s the only answer I have, Mr. Bennington. I’m sorry that Ican’t help you.”“Won’t help, you mean.”“I said what I meant—I can’t.”He shook his head, over and over; his face was bleak, as if somelight had gone out of him. Maybe it was hope; maybe I’d been his lasthope and now it was gone. I would have given him back his hope, ifI could have, but I honestly couldn’t do what he wanted; no onecould.He turned and looked at the three men, slowly, then back to me.“Do you love them?”I thought about telling him it was none of his business, but inthe face of such pain, I told the truth. “Yes.”“All three of them?”I thought about quibbling, that I love-loved Micah and Nathaniel,but loved Jason as a friend. The fact that I had sex with all of themsort of muddied the waters for most people, but the four of us wereclear on how we felt about each other, and all of us knew that Jasonwas my friend first and everything else second. We were secure, so Igave the short answer: “I do.”He looked at all of us again, nodded once, and then openedthe door. “I’ve never been able to love more than one person at atime. It would be easier if I could.”I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t bother. I tried toput my sympathy into my face, and let it go at that.“Their being here with you proves that at least some of the tallesttales about you are true.”“You keep leaving me not knowing what to say, Mr. Bennington.”“I thought women always knew what to say.”“I don’t.”“My wife was a very different kind of woman than you, Ms.Blake.”“I hear that a lot,” I said.“Please, help me get her back.”“I can’t give her back to you, Mr. Bennington. No human beingcould do what you truly want, no matter how psychically giftedthey might be.”“And what do I truly want?”“You want resurrection of the body and mind and soul. I’mgood, Mr. Bennington, maybe the best, but no one, not even me, isthat good.”He left then without another word, closing the door carefullybehind him. Micah hugged me. “That was unpleasant.”I raised my face for a kiss, which he gave, and hugged him back.“Unpleasant,” I said, “that’s one word for it.”Nathaniel hugged me from behind, and I was suddenly sandwichedbetween my two live-in sweeties. Nathaniel kissed the topof my head. “Come to lunch, and Jason and I will flirt outrageously,and make you smile.”“As long as I’m left out of the flirting,” Micah said.“It’s okay that you don’t flirt in public,” Nathaniel said, “you dofine at home.”Jason came to stand beside us. “If four’s a crowd I can take ahint.”It was Micah who opened his arm and brought Jason into thegroup hug, which let Nathaniel do the same. We snuggled togetherfor a moment, and Jason put his face against mine. “I don’t knowhow you deal with clients all day, Anita.”“I could do without the grieving relatives, that’s for sure,” Isaid.“One of these days,” Mary said from behind us, “you have to tellme how you do that.”We broke from the hug enough for me to look at her. “Dowhat?”She waved her hands at us all. “Three of the sexiest men I’veseen in weeks and they’re all here to take you to lunch. If you findone over thirty, throw him my way.” It made me laugh, which iswhat she meant it to do. Mary had worked here as long as I had, andshe’d seen worse displays of grief than Tony Bennington’s.I smiled to let her know it worked, and tried to shake thedepressing feeling that I’d failed Bennington. I had told him thetruth, but sometimes the last thing you want when you’re grievingis truth.“I have a couple that are way over thirty, Mary, but I didn’t thinkyou were into vampires.”She made a girlish squeal, which was a sound that should havebeen outlawed once you hit the other side of fifty, but Mary couldstill pull it off. I was under thirty and still couldn’t do the squealwithout feeling like an idiot. It was never a voluntary sound for me.“See you after lunch, Mary.”“If I had all three of them with me, I would make it a longlunch.”I grinned, and then felt the blush start. I always had blushedeasily, damn it.Mary laughed, until Jason walked over to her and kissed hercheek, and then it was her turn to blush. We left the office laughingwith Mary joining us. “Go on with you, cheeky kid,” she said toJason, but was still bright-eyed with the attention.“Cheeky, hmm,” Jason said. I grabbed his arm and pulled him outthe door before he could do whatever was behind that gleam in hiseyes. I wasn’t sure if Mary would thank me later, or be disappointed.

_________________O lift me from the grass! I die! I faint ! I fail!Let thy love in kisses rainOn my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white,alas!My heart beats loud and fast:O press it to thine own again,Where it will break at last!